Blue Bird I guess? Maybe More Like Silhouette, But You Get It

“Hiro, Hiro, turn the corner and pull over,” Aya said.

“Doesn’t exactly look like a neighborhood where anyone’d stick a bank,” I said, scanning the area as I parked.

“First, we hit my crew, arm up to our asses, get some intel, then we go shopping,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Uh-huh what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Got a sneaking feeling I’m gonna punch someone, rip my stitches, and bleed out again,” I said, stepping out of the car.

“Come on, don’t be so uptight. It’s that spot there, third one,” she said, pointing while trying to climb out the window ass first. “Hah… you know, we’ve built a damn good front over time…”

“Bribing cops, politicians, or both?” I asked, walking toward the shop. The storefront and that fucking sign above answered my question. “You gotta be shitting me...”

“It’s just a front, Hiro. All the real shit’s in the basement—folks up here don’t have a clue,” Aya said, brushing glass shards off her clothes as she caught up.

“Nope, ain’t going in,” I said.

“Come oooon…” she whined.

“Seriously, Aya, someone’s gonna end up dead if I step inside,” I said, staring at the sign.

“You’re turning sour… sour like an old cunt's dentures,” she said, smirking.

“That’s the nastiest fucking metaphor I’ve heard yet…” I said, still eyeing the sign. “Nope, I’ll wait in the car…”

“Oh, hell no!” She grabbed my arm and yanked me toward her. “What’s your fucking problem, Hiro?”

“This is a goddamn otaku shop. Jesus, I feel like I’m turning virgin just standing here,” I said, already making a mental image of what might be inside, and by 'what' I mean the 'creatures'.

“We just gotta hit the storage room, don’t be a pussy,” she said.

“Fine, fine… guess there’s no other way…” I talked under my breath, pushing the door open. “Yikes…” I faked a shudder. “Feels like my first nut crawled back into my balls.”

“You know that otakus-don’t-fuck thing is just a meme, right?” she said, rolling her eyes.

“If jerking off counts as fucking, teenage me was goddamn Hugh Hefner,” I talked eyeing the dakimakuras and hearing two guys who clearly don't know what deodorant is argue about the morality of a fictional character.

The people inside stared like we were extras in a low budget zombie flick… or maybe just at Aya. Bet on the latter: hot girl, shredded clothes, surrounded by walking cum-tanks... You do the math.

Aya signaled for my hand, yeah pointless, but these guys probably got hard by just seeing that, so I went along.

“We just gotta hit the warehouse, down the stairs, and you can stop pretending you’re holding your breath,” she said, laughing, dragging me along.

“Perfect spot for one of your damn sex jokes, how come you still haven't—” I stopped mid sentence, 'cause two idiots arguing over a manga stole my focus.

“Can’t believe the author wrote this garbage! How do you read this shit?” one guy said.

“You’re not getting the historical context of the story,” the other shot back.

Come on, you know me, I mean it's already chapter fourteen. I couldn’t let it slide.
I dropped Aya’s hand and turned around.

“Hiro…” Aya muttered, not stopping me, either she thought it was funny or knew I was a lost cause.

“Hi, hi!” I said, slinging my arms over both their shoulders. “You know none of this is real, right? It’s called fiction, which means zero impact on real life—”

“You cool with isekai slavery, then?” one interrupted.

“Look, buddy, I don’t like being cut off…” I said, pulling his face close. “Do it again, and I’ll make you eat that fucking manga. You’ll be shitting ink for a week like a goddamn squid.”

“Y-You see… he gets context matters,” the other stammered.

“You, shut your fucking mouth too,” I said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You think Friday the 13th director goes out at night wearing a hockey mask and hacking people up? Fucking moron…”

I was about to keep going, but Aya grabbed my neck like a bouncer hauling a drunk out of a bar, dragging me toward the warehouse door while I squirmed.

“Goddamn it, Aya, I’m not done, let go!” I said.

“No way in hell I’m letting you go. You were about to start swinging,” she said.

“You really think I solve everything with violence?” I asked.

“Hiro…”

“Okay, fine… but these guys need to touch grass, Jesus…” I said.

Aya was hauling me, I swear she almost shoved me into the warehouse and only ‘cause I’d stopped fighting. But then I heard them again, and it pissed me right off.

“This asshole doesn’t get that people have different sensitivities…”

“What do you expect from an ignorant prick?”

Trigger warning, or whatever the fuck this idiots call it…
I slipped Aya’s grip and marched back.

“Heyyy…” I said, pointing at a manga on the shelf. “What about this one?”

“Berserk,” one said.

“Deluxe edition, reprint,” the other added.

“Got it… got it…” I grabbed the manga. Nice print, embossed edges, heavy, hardcover. I swung it like a fucking bat, smacking one guy square in the face.
“Oh! Sorry… did I hurt your precious sensitivity with a piece of fiction?” I poked at him, leaning over his sprawled body before turning my head at the other. “What about you, Naruto? Gonna hit me with a jutsu or some bullshit?”

The guy just froze against the shelf, which pissed me off more. But I already had scratched the itch, so I was pretty chill.

I left the manga back and started checking others while Aya stared at me from the warehouse door, looking ready to kick my ass.

“Hey! Hold this for me?” I shouted to the guy over the counter, flashing the manga before setting it back. “I’ll grab it later.”

“Seriously, Hiro?” Aya said.

“What?”

“You deck an otaku and then buy a manga?” she asked.

“It’s volume fifteen of Call of the Night, my favorite manga,” I said, passing by her, heading down the stairs while lifting my shirt to check my stitches.
Still good.